Time

Time is ticking in a song.
Can u hear it?
Time is interfering in my countenance, giving me clouts of aging.
Can you see it?
Time caresses my naked skin
And carves wrinkles in the shape of my finite path.
Time doesn't dodge a single hair,
Like an outstanding soldier doesn't miss his prey.
Time is viciously thundering in my heart
its exuberant melodies of lascivious thoughts.
Time is fiddling around in every machinery in rythmic steps marching unmercifully forward till its droplets collide with the ocean made ragged by waves of my angriness.
Time is scribbling a threatening play flooded with characters of the most terrifying, malicious, spiteful, pitiful traits.
Time is not pleasant to my ears 
and its howling air is tousling my hair into an inexplicable pile of incomprehension.
Time makes my cruising weaker
And lures my expiry date into its claws 
Of the fatiguing ritual dance 
Of sacrifice to Gods of emptiness filled by minds of primitive tribes.
Time is drinking itself into a complete stupor while my eyes are roaming the darkness of my reclusive bubble,
and its sluggish steps tumble down the mountain of old burials blurred by pipe smoke and misty haze.
Time is hovering and buzzing upon a blooming flower withering under the persuasive strenght of its irreversible one-way pace
as to suck the flower's colour into its walls of a flamboyent circus marquee,
in which it makes quips at my expense
At my vulnerable hopeless meander.
Time is my favourite friend 
which sticks to its guns
And stubbornly ruminates the petals of my youth with its chewing muscles.
Time will separate authors from their works.
Time will separate a mother and a child.
Time will separate lovers and planets and stars and the universe.
But time will never separate the liquor of love from my ME,
in which I am bathing like a baby in the water of its mother's womb.